Tis But the Beginning Of The Next Great Adventure
by Kiara5542
Summary: A one shot fic about how Harry would deal with the death of one of the primary figures in his life. Dedicated and written in the memory of Richard Harris.


**Title**: 'Tis But The Next Great Adventure  
  
Author: Kiara  
  
Rating: General  
  
Characters: Harry, Dumbledore  
  
Disclaimer: I do not in any way, shape or form, own Harry Potter or Dumbledore. He belongs to JK Rowling. ^_^ I just borrow them every once in awhile ^_~  
  
Summary: A one shot fic about how Harry would deal with the death of one of the primary figures in his life. Dedicated and written in the memory of Richard Harris.   
  


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It was sunny this morning when I woke up, but I'm glad that its not anymore as I stand here beside the lake. My clothes are drenched from the light summer rain that is falling from the grey skies overhead, and I'm not sure whether the moisture on my cheeks is raindrops or tears. My heart is beating painfully fast, and I have to struggle to catch my breath.

Have you ever met someone who had a huge influence on your life? Who did so much for you, and meant so much that you could not even comprehend living without them, or remember a time when they were not present?

Albus Dumbledore was such a one to me.

How can he be gone?

They sent Hermione to tell me. I knew before she even said anything that something was terribly wrong - her brown eyes were full of hesitation, sadness and confusion, and her face was so very pale against the darkness of her robes.

We had known for awhile that he was ill - he never was one to leave things unsaid, or allow others to get the jump on him. He stood up in the Great Hall one day and very simply and calmly announced that he had indeed been ill, and that Madam Pomfrey would of course be treating him. You would have thought that Malfoy and his Slytherin buddies would have used this as an opportunity to sneer at our Headmaster, but their whole table was strangely silent when he took his seat. 

Even after he announced it, nobody seemed to be able to take it seriously. He has always been there, as long as any of us can remember. For at least three generations he has been there, providing strength and wisdom, comfort and guidance. We all know that he has seen and experienced and learned more things than we can ever imagine, and even Malfoy appeared to have a strange sort of respect for him. How could you not, knowing that he was the only one Voldemort still feared? 

My mind is swirling with memories of him that appear behind my closed eyelids one after another. The amused twinkle in those wise eyes as he stood before a hall full of eager young students and frightened first years and announced "Nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak!" The kind firmness in his voice as he gently explained the Mirror of Erised to a lost feeling young boy, the wry amusement as he bit into an earwax Every Flavour bean. The disappointment but willingness to forgive and understand with which he dealt with Ron and I's adventure with the Whomping Willow, and the fierce protectiveness and sheer power that radiated from him as he confronted Barty Crouch.

A shiver ripples through my body, but no matter how tightly I wrap my robes around myself, I can't seem to get warm. 

Somehow I thought that he would always be there. I don't remember him holding me in his arms when I was a baby, nor do I remember him placing me on the doorstep of the Dursley's house, but when I found out that he had done that, somehow it all felt right. And no matter how desperate things got, how bleak the outlook seemed, there was always the thought in my mind that he was there, to be leaned upon and looked up to.

"_Harry, everyone says Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of. With Dumbledore around, You-Know-Who won't touch you._"

Eventually everyone knew the truth, of course. No matter how gaily the teachers talked, nor how desperately Madam Pomfrey tried to hide the sadness in her eyes, we all knew. You could practically feel it in the air. Strangers from all over the world came to and fro from his office and the infirmary, speaking in strange accents and wearing strange clothes, testimony to how far he reached and how many lives he touched. Other people were amazed at the fact that most of them looked desperately unhappy when they arrived and yet strangely calm when they left, but I wasn't. 

He called me in to see him just this morning. I tried to pretend that everything was normal, chattering on blindly about Quidditch and how I hated Potions and how I had almost beaten Ron at Wizards Chess but not quite, and how Ginny had tried to remove all her freckles and I hadn't heard from Sirius in awhile and then...

And then I was looking up and into those infinitely wise and gentle blue eyes, and all my words were silenced.

"I believe I said to you once, Mister Potter, that to the well organized mind, death is but the next great adventure - like going to bed after a very, very long day."

The words are quietly spoken, but the voice is comforting and familiar even if it is weak, and I nod my head.

"I want you to remember that, Harry. I leave you with sadness, but it is not for you or I to decide what fate has in store for us. To do so is to be like the man who killed your parents and removed Cedric Diggory from our midst."

His voice is firm, scarcely showing how the illness has weakened his body. I nod once again and look out the window, but when I look back our eyes meet yet again. Before I can restrain myself, I am up and out of my chair, crying onto the soft silk pillow upon which his grey head rests. Dumbledore gently strokes my hair with a hand that is shaking ever so slightly, and for long moments we remain like that.

When at last I straighten again, my eyes are dry once more, and I feel no embarassment for my outpouring of emotion. We share one last look, and this time he lets down the shutters in those enigmatic blue eyes of his. I can clearly see all the sorrows and joys, hopes and fears that he has kept hidden from the world, and visible there too, is the sharp regret at having to leave. 

I don't remember what I did from now until then. I don't even remember how long I've been standing out here in the rain, although the way my robes cling to my body tells me its been awhile. The only thing I can remember is that last gaze that the two of us shared, and no matter how hard I try to control it, the pain seems to come in never ending waves.

It will pass eventually, I know. The hole in my life won't go away, but somehow the pain will diminish and I'll be able to remember Albus Dumbledore the way he would want to be remembered.

After all...every new adventure means the end of an old one. 

The sun breaks through a small gap in the clouds, and I raise my head to see that the rain has stopped. I slowly turn and head back towards Hogwarts, and as I go, one last thought runs through my head.

Good luck to you, Albus Dumbledore, wherever you may be. You will never be forgotten.

  
  


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**In memory of the actor Richard Harris, 1930 - 2002. Well loved around the world as the figure of Dumbledore. He brought much joy into the lives of many, bringing a beloved character to life before our eyes. May he rest in peace.**


End file.
